


Captured

by amildgroove



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight (2008), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M, Fear Play, Guilty Pleasures, Implied Relationships, Implied Torture, Introspection, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Sociopaths!, Suck at tagging!, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amildgroove/pseuds/amildgroove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selina Kyle didn't realize it yet, but waking up in an abandoned warehouse and finding herself strapped to a table would not be the weirdest part of her evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off of an AMAZING picture I found at deviantart.com of Joker and Catwoman. You should definitely go and check it out, but be advised, it is probably NSFW...I say probably because I don't know how cool your boss is. O.o
> 
> http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=joker+and+catwoman#/art/Catwoman-and-Joker-172970268?_sid=7bb9e7f2
> 
> You will notice I am loosely basing the fic on this picture...I am generally keeping Joker in Nolan's-verse, and doing the same with Catwoman as well, minus a couple of creative liberties. Do enjoy!

I knew from the moment I regained consciousness that my life was going to end soon.

There were so many things assaulting my senses at once when I first came to.  I was in a dark place; my usual acuity for night vision failing me at the moment and impeding me from being able to determine where exactly I was.  The air was wet and prominent with a dank, moldy odor, my automatic reaction to cover my nose impeded by the final realization that caused an unfamiliar feeling of panic to rise within me.

My arms, feet, legs, chest…my entire body was bound tightly to a hard surface.  I was seated at an incline, my legs spread wide and bound so tightly that, with my curious efforts to try and close my knees together, I found that I could not even budge them an inch.  I was exposed, for what purpose I had yet to determine, but I hated how vulnerable I was with my womanhood presented for whoever had done this to me.

 Warehouse.

I blinked, knowing instinctively that realizing I was bound to a table in a warehouse did not help my situation.  Slowly, I turned my head this way and that, grateful that I could still move my neck, despite the little good it did me.  To my left there was a glimpse of light on the ceiling; there… a skylight, and though my view was partial, that was definitely Wayne Tower in the distance.

_I’m still in Gotham…_

This knowledge did not make the situation better.  If anything, knowing that I was caught somewhere in Gotham made my fear begin to heighten all the more.  Gotham was the breeding ground of the most sinister creatures the criminal world had ever known.  Had I awoken outside of Gotham, perhaps I would have stood a chance of escaping on my own.  Within Gotham’s limits…there were _many_ beings that I knew better than to not fear.

It would have been easy to calculate where I was in Gotham—I was familiar with warehouses, and since I was looking at the front of Wayne Tower (which always faces North) it would have been easy to determine which factory I was in.

Easy, yet unhelpful.

Instead, I quickly ran through the long list of criminals that tormented Gotham, trying to determine which would make the effort to come after me.  I had been scoping out a new jewelry store that opened last week, trying to determine how much effort went in to their security, when everything had suddenly gone black.  Then, I woke up in this warehouse strapped to a table.

So far as I knew, jewels were only an interest to me, the other Gotham-bred criminals pursuing more direct means of becoming rich.  Penguin, Riddler and Croc were safely tucked away in Arkham; and they were known for their unsuccessful attempts at escaping.  Poison Ivy was not exactly a friend, merely an ally when it came to snaring the Bat.  Had the two of us ever been successful, it would have been a fight to the death over who could lay claim to the masked man.  It wasn’t like Pamela to go after me unless she had some larger scheme in mind to lure the Bat…and she’d been lying low as of late since the incident with Bane and Talia.  Scarecrow seemed unlikely; my physical strength and skill outmatched his slight body, and since I wasn’t foaming at the mouth from fear, his toxin being his only advantage over an opponent, it seemed unlikely that Crane was my captor.

That left one dysfunctional duo left and the icy grip of fear that clenched my spine was well warranted…if I was right.  Joker _had_ escaped from Arkham three weeks ago, but had not made a move on Gotham since it was discovered he was missing.  Joker…there was never a solid method of determining his motivations; the Clown Prince liked to play, and whatever was absurdly difficult and fun would attract him like a moth to the flame.  Yet, Harley would have surely been in on whatever the Joker had planned; she was usually responsible for doing the dirty work, and capturing me would have been her responsibility.

Harley had never been _that_ good.

On the few occasions that I had come against Joker’s woman, it had been a quick and decisive confrontation, always ending in my favor.  I was not the best cat burglar because I was _new_ at this game.

But…

If Harley had not come after me, then that would mean that Joker had come after me on his own…and, as typical with him, the motivation for capturing me made no sense. 

_He knows I’m not the best lure for bats…that has failed me before._

Apparently the Bat did not appreciate nearly killing the Commissioner for some priceless art prints.  He had made it very clear, with his distance, that he was through playing games with me.

There was little chance for a rescue from the Bat, that much I was—

The sound of deep, sinister laughter caused me to flinch, my head swiveling toward the sound as the man I could not help but fear suddenly bled into the light.  My stomach sank…yes, I was going to die.

“Have you, uh, figured it all out in your head, hmm?  Tell me,” Joker sidled closer to me, an involuntary gasp spilling from my lips as he knelt next to me, his overwhelming presence baring down on my already weakened resolve, “what’s been going _on_ underneath those little cat ear _s_?  Didja finally realize that you’re not any good at catching bats?!”

Joker broke out into a loud, belly laugh, holding his sides and slapping his knee as my worst realization amused the Hell out of him.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, attempting to appear stoic.  It was useless really; Joker had the inane ability to read people’s emotions ten steps before they would show them.

“What do you want?” I said in a whisper, not trusting my voice.

The abrupt silence that followed Joker’s laughter resulted in chills erupting all over my body…he was toying with me.

…and it scared the shit out of me.

Joker appeared thoughtful, tapping one finger to his chin as he pondered my question.

“Hmm…I’m a little, uh, disappointed that you would not have seen me coming, Pussy Cat!”

My expression betrayed my thoughts as I quickly ran through, once more, all the interactions Joker and I had ever had together.  My confusion seemed to anger Joker.

“So…you’ve forgotten so easil _y_ , hmm? Perhaps you are more of a slut than Bats and I could have ever known!  Would you like me to take a coffee break while you ponder all the men you’ve fucked in your time?”

I couldn’t help the gasp because I _did_ suddenly remember.  It had happened so quickly in my mind.  Slut?  Fucking?  None of those words would have ever amalgamated Joker and I…

…except that I _had_ kissed him once.

I closed my eyes against the vision of him, realizing that I had made a grave error in forgetting such a moment.  It was more than five years ago; I had inadvertently become caught in a battle between Batman and Joker.  I wasn’t supposed to be there—in fact, I had just been passing through, watching the city from the rooftops.

When Joker had grabbed me, using me as a body-shield and commanding Batman to do his will lest he should hurt me, I panicked.  I hadn’t known that Batman would have done anything for me then, perhaps I would not have made such a hasty move if I had.  Back then, with my close encounters with the other Gotham-bred criminals always being far _too_ close for my liking, I did whatever was necessary to stay alive; whatever I had been after, be it jewels, or money, or other precious materials, it was always second to my efforts in staying alive.  With the Joker’s incessant cackling in my ear, his jeers and taunts at the Bat becoming more descriptive and violent, I sought to free myself from his hold in the only way I thought would work.  It had been a gamble, and now I knew that I had lost that bet.

When Joker had turned to look at me, taunting me, his hold on my body tightening as if to remind me that he wasn’t letting me go, I craned my neck to face him and pressed my lips to his.  I was almost surprised when I felt his body stiffen against mine; and I was even more bewildered when he did not fling himself away from me immediately, having imagined that my touch would have been disgusting to him.

I had thought wrong.

Instead, Joker pressed his lips firm against mine, the rough ridges of his tattered cheeks brushing against my own, and the smell of his greasepaint assaulting my nose.  His grip on my shoulders tightened as he changed the angle of his lips against mine.

I never wondered what Batman must have felt watching me kiss his most hated enemy.  I never asked, and he never spoke of it.  Instead, Batman took advantage of this distraction when Joker pulled away from me and allowed me to take a step away from him.

Our eyes had met for a fraction of a second—it was a look I had never seen on Joker’s face before; he was surprised, but he almost seemed…content.  I abandoned the thought—I spun away from him and fled the scene, not stopping my fast pace until I was inside the safety of my apartment.

Batman had captured the Joker because of my actions; and he sat in Arkham for nearly 18 months before he had managed to escape.  It had not crossed my mind that Joker might want revenge against me; Batman and he had met on the battlefield of Gotham many times before, and the Clown Prince had never made a move against me.  He resided in and out of Arkham, seemingly at his own whim, and I quickly forgot about the entire incident, moving on with my ambitions against Gotham.

Joker, evidently, had not forgotten.

“Ah,” he whispered, almost gently, as if trying not to alarm me out of my reverie, “there it is.  You remember, hmm?” He was smiling, of course, almost giddy that I knew precisely why I was here and that, perhaps, would understand why he thought I was deserving of whatever punishment he chose to—

It was then I noticed, to my right, peeking from the shadows, a large, steel circle, its edge thick with sharp, serrated teeth.

A mobile band saw.

I swallowed the lump of fear that was lodged in my throat, trying to accept my fate, “So you’re going to kill me because I was the reason you landed back in Arkham?  Hardly seems fair, even Harley has caused you to—”

“Harley has received what she has long been due,” he barked quickly, leveling a glare at me as if I should have known better than to mention his girlfriend.  I quirked a brow, wondering if the crazed clown had finally lost patience with the woman and killed her, “and she is rotting away in Arkham in my place, as punishment.”

What I did next was likely going to accelerate the approach of my death, but at that moment, I just didn’t care.  I closed my eyes, blocking my vision of the deranged clown and laying my head against the table.  I did not want to see my death coming; it was bad enough that I would not be able to block my ears from the sound of the band saw coming to life, worse still that I knew how it was going to happen, with the always-laughing clown slicing me in two, beginning with my exposed genitals.   

I never would have imagined how badly Joker would take me kissing him.  The Clown Prince was one of those criminals that would laugh at his own expense, even when caught.  It was amusing to him, and he relished in those “Oh! You got me!” moments.  At the very least, I thought it would be funny to him; that I had exploited his momentary distraction and gotten away.

Apparently not.

I felt myself begin to tremble as I heard him move around me, muttering to himself something about “troublesome pussies” and fumbling with his jacket.  I could not imagine, nor did I want to, how long, how tortuous my death was going to be.  Harley had been an annoying thorn in Joker’s side for years, constantly flubbing his well-orchestrated plans and landing him in Arkham on nearly half the occasions that he had ever been there.  I had always assumed the sex had been great for the pair; one sociopathic clown with an overly-infatuated, un-medicated girlfriend…it _sounded_ like the sex would have been epic.  Yet, I had not done a fraction of the damage that Harley had to Joker’s nerves, or so I thought, and her punishment was rotting away in Arkham with no hope of escape. 

My punishment was going to be hours of torture, and my death would become my release when he deemed I deserved it.

The odds of Joker being so generous were not in my favor.

I kept my eyes firmly shut, expecting at any moment to hear the grating whir of the band saw that would begin the end of my life.  I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I felt a hand touch the junction of right thigh and nether lips, the air whooshing from my lungs with a choked gasp.  I tried to jerk myself away from his touch, of course I could not, and suddenly I felt something hard slowly trace the seam of my opening through my costume from top to bottom. 

I screamed out, forgetting whatever effort I was going to make in staying calm and resolute during this torture.  Joker gave a low chuckle, and it only made tears begin to pool in my eyes.  This was his typical fashion; threaten you with your life, but then take away the part of you that you would never want to lose.  Dying is one thing; I didn’t want to _live_ with mutilation!

 The cold air hit my opening as he ripped open the slit he had made.  The tears were flowing freely now, fear overwhelming what strength I had left.  I bit my tongue, hard, keeping my lips sealed as I tasted blood.  I did not want to beg, but I feared that he would not be satisfied with my punishment until I had.

His hand left my body as he moved to the foot of the table.  My trembling worsened.

A wordless shout erupted from me when the band saw came to life.  He began to cackle, every unseen movement, every heightened sound, every random touch—all of it notched my fear higher and higher until I thought I would black out from shock.  I wasn’t that lucky.

Joker was suddenly between my legs again; I was unsure of what he was doing, refusing to open my eyes to see the pleased look on his face as I shook and cried with fear.  There was heat from him on my spread legs and it seemed he was leaning over me, enjoying what he had reduced me to before he had even begun.  I could not make myself come together; I wept openly, I shook in my bonds from the overwhelming potency of fear.

There was a small puff of air on my slit, almost as if he was breathing—

My body jack-knifed against my restraints, a guttural scream being wrenched from my throat as he dragged his tongue slowly, languorously, up my slit before circling the hidden pearl with the tip of his tongue.

I did not have even a moment to wonder what _the hell_ Joker was doing, let alonewhy _the fuck_ he was doing it, when my body suddenly betrayed me again.  Against my own volition, I suddenly came, my back arching as much as it could against my restraints and a hoarse scream echoing in the warehouse.  It lasted longer than I was expecting, my body shaken with tremors for an entirely different reason now.  His hands were still on my thighs, but they were moving, from the junction of my thighs to my knees, back and forth, slowly, and smoothing his bare hands along the fabric of my costume.  His touch _felt_ pleasant, and when he pressed a kiss to my now-drenched slit, I came again, my scream choking off as I became hoarse.

“It is the most _juvenile_ concept that the, uh, population seems to be complete _ly_ ignorant of,” he whispered against my opening, the vibration of his lips against mine causing me to moan loudly again.  “People always seem to think that combining pain and pleasure will result in more…” he closed his teeth around one of my lips, causing me to writhe as much as I could against him, another wave of pleasure arching through my body, “… _pleasure_.”

“However…” he moved again, and I finally opened my eyes to see his face close to mine, his body hovering over me and the slight, whispering touch of the fabric of his trousers grazing my center.  I groaned, pursing my lips to silence the noise, but never moving my eyes from his.  He looked smug, _so_ smug, and I could not begin to wonder where he was going next with my supposed punishment.  This was Joker, after all.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine, and I felt my moisture on his mouth as he whispered, “Replace extreme _fear_ with pleasure…” he thrust his hips into mine, earning another wordless shout from me as I tried to buck against him, the pleasure building within me again as the hardness of him pressed against my center, his trousers keeping from me what my _body_ was beginning to crave.  I came against him again, the friction of his trousers against my clit driving me wild, his pants becoming wet with my fluids.

“…and the pleasure intensifie _s_ ,” he slammed his lips against mine, and to my own surprise, I welcomed him into my mouth, tangling my tongue with his as I strained against my bonds, wanting to touch him, to grind him, to do _anything_ to bring that pleasure back.  I was considering abandoning my efforts to _rationalize_ what the hell I was doing; I was so out of my mind with pleasure that I just wanted more…so much more.

While our tongues wrestled together, Joker’s fingers began tracing the rope along the underside of my right breast before skimming down the planes of my stomach and coming to my now-aching slit.  His fingers danced around my opening, his laughter taunting me when I tried to push my hips against him and could not.  The walls of my sex continued to clench and spasm residually from the several orgasms prior, and now I _ached_ for something to be inside of me; my body tired as my inner walls clenched tightly around nothing. 

Joker’s hand grazed the rope around my thigh and I chanced opening my eyes.  I was met with his hard gaze piercing mine while his hand stopped on the rope.  It was that look again, the same one from when I had kissed him so many years ago, except now I could see traces of an emotion I knew I would never see again on Joker.  Uncertainty.  He wanted me, I could tell from his look, and the way I was bound to the table would not allow him to take me as he wished.  He would have to untie my legs.

I could escape if one of my legs was untied.  The blade of my heel would easily cut the other ropes; and if I could get my blade to the rope at my wrist (which I could) then my claws would do the rest.

Still aware of Joker searching my face, I realized what he was looking for in me when I discovered it for myself.  My body shook, the tremors returning from my own anxiety and despair.

I did not want to escape.

Freakishly intuitive as always, Joker suddenly sprang to life, earning a gasp from me when he suddenly produced a blade from his coat sleeve, making short work of the ropes that bound my legs and my waist.

Able to thrust my hips forward, I arched my back against him when he was over me again, his palms on either side of my head as he continued to study my face.  He was waiting for me to disappoint him again, like I did five years ago; waiting for me to kick him off and free myself.

“Please…” I whispered, pushing my hips forward as much as I could, my palms opening and closing as I ached to touch him in some way.  It frightened me how badly I wanted this, how much I didn’t care _who_ this man was and how wrong this should have been.  It didn’t _feel_ wrong.

Despite my pleas, Joker was not convinced.  I couldn’t blame him; there was a reason most of us Gotham-bred criminals were solo acts…we couldn’t trust one another worth a damn.  I didn’t care anymore though, and I could deal with the backlash of this colossal fuck-up tomorrow when I would be damn good and sated.  Until then, come what may.

Joker leaned in to my neck and I craned my head to the side, baring as much as I could as he bit down on the column of my neck through my costume.

“Tell me you want i _t_ ,” he growled into my neck.  Why did his voice suddenly seem so sexy?  Surely it had not always been that way.

“I do…please…” Thank God no one could see this. I was not proud of myself at the moment, begging the most dangerous man in Gotham to hurry up and fuck me, but I still did not care.

“Prove it,” he rumbled into my neck, his voice driving me insane.

Before he could say another word, my head swung back to face him and my lips crushed to his.  My tongue stole between his lips, intensifying our kiss as his tongue began to move with mine.  One of my hands jerked against the rope that bound my wrist to the table, and my breath huffed from my nose with displeasure; I wanted to touch him, to feel what his body was like, if it was really as strong and hard as he made it seem, or if his nimble grace came naturally, but I could do no more than arch my hips into his, grinding my open sex against the bulge in his trousers.

Joker tore away from my lips, his breath coming in raspy pants, and he stared at the hand that had been straining against the bonds.  I stilled, his expression morphed into one of confusion while his gaze remained fixed on my hand, as if he was about to ask it what it had been trying to do.  My brow quirked as I watched him; I didn’t pretend to grasp everything that was Joker, but this seemed a little strange, even for him. 

Whatever Joker was doing, my sex was practically weeping, dripping wet for him and I didn’t think I could wait another moment without him inside me.  I leaned my head forward as much as I could, my lips pressing to his neck before licking a path to his ear and taking the soft skin of the lobe between my teeth.

That seemed to snap Joker out of his funk, and in a flurry of motion that had me screaming in shock, he produced a blade from somewhere on his person again and quickly sliced through the ropes around my wrists and upper arms.

Before he could stare at me with the look that spoke of how much he was anticipating me disappointing him, I ripped off my gloves with my teeth—very much aware of how incapacitated I had just made myself—and shoved my hands beneath his jacket, smoothing my palms over his vest and shirt but feeling every definition of his chest, stomach, around to his broad shoulders and the deep, corded muscle of his back.  Joker stilled beneath my touch, his face turning toward me as he simply stared while I explored his body.  He felt so…ordinary.  Strong, muscular, and I suspected he was hiding a good-looking body under that cheap purple suit, but altogether just an ordinary man.  My hands skimmed down his back to his butt, clenching his rear and pushing his hips into mine so our sexes collided, earning a muffled groan.  I couldn’t reach the rest of Joker’s lower half, instead bringing my hands back to his chest, flattening my palms to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Despite my sex-addled brain, which remained persistent in wanting to complete the act, I felt a little foolish for what I was doing.  I had wanted to touch Joker, I was a touchy person during sex, but I didn’t realize how badly my curiosity would take over.  Joker felt so…human.  I knew he was human, had always known, but it was surreal how much actually touching him, kissing him, cemented that fact into reality.  I always saw the villain and never the man.  But Joker was a _man_ , a living, breathing, man with a beating heart.  It was staggering how well-orchestrated Joker’s criminal façade was; it had been easy to forget that the criminal mastermind was as vulnerable as any other man.

My eyes met his for a moment and I swallowed back the nervous, awkward feeling that threatened to overwhelm me with the shit-this-is-Joker realization.  Instead, I saw the man in those brown eyes, the man whose heart was beating beneath my fingers.  Lifting one of my hands, I smoothed my thumb across his cheek, smearing white greasepaint to reveal smooth, beige skin above rough, bubbly scars.  Yes, this was definitely a man in my arms.

My body became warm again, my arousal impatient with my perusal of Joker’s body and I bit my lip, nervous on where to begin again.  Joker must have seen something in my eyes that became all the impetus he needed.  His lips crashed into mine again, our tongues tangling together, earning a short whine from me as I thrust my hips against his.  My hands darted to his belt, ripping the leather apart from the buckle before attacking the buttons of his trousers with my fingers while Joker palmed my breasts with his hands, squeezing and plucking at my nipples beneath the fabric until they hardened.  I finally gripped Joker in my hand—I mean really, the man was wearing more clothes than me—squeezing him and earning a moan against my lips.  I was sure there were tears in my eyes when I lifted my hips to his, guiding his cock to my wet slit.

With one thrust Joker was buried inside me to the hilt, his lips pressing to mine at the same moment, swallowing a gasp from my lips.  My hands scrabbled at his back and rear as I pulled him into me, bucking against him as he began to thrust into me with a hard, fast pace.  It felt like we were at it for hours, but my body had been overstimulated from the several orgasms before and I was going to climax quickly.  We bucked against each other like we were wild, muffling groans, screams, and gasps with each other’s lips.  Joker’s hands left my breasts to grip the table I was strapped to for leverage, pounding into my sensitive entrance even harder.  I was undone. 

With a muffled scream, my hands clenching his rear, I climaxed, my walls clenching around his cock.  I was actually surprised when Joker shuddered his release several moments after mine, assuming he had god-like stamina that would prolong our coupling until the sex felt like torture to my oversexed body and I begged him to stop.  But no…he was still a man.

I collapsed back onto the table, my entire body shuddering and twitching.  I had never experienced anything in the bedroom quite like what Joker had done to me; sex was something I craved and yearned for in a way that guaranteed I always got mine regardless of which insensitive bastard I bedded.  Joker had brought me to heights I had never imagined before, using fear as an agent of arousal.  Leave it to Joker to figure that one out…

I blinked slowly, and realized how much of a struggle it suddenly was to keep my eyes open.  I fought back a yawn, trying to focus on Joker poised above me, his eyes on my face as I felt myself start to drift away.  This was ridiculous; I never fell asleep after sex, at least not until I was in my own apartment or the fool I had bedded was gone.  But it was happening whether I liked it or not, my overstimulated body was exhausted and I parted my lips to say something to Joker without even realizing what I had planned to say.  Please don’t kill me in my sleep?  Untie me so I can go home?

However, the only thought on my mind that failed to escape my lips as the darkness closed in on me was simply…why?

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

My eyes flew open the moment I regained consciousness, taking immediate inventory of my surroundings.  I was in a familiar place, a _very_ familiar place, and I felt my heart sink in my chest.  I had been strapped to a table when I passed out underneath Joker…and now I was staring at the ceiling of my bedroom in my apartment.

“Wakey, wakey…pussy…ca _t_.”

Shit.

Sitting up in my bed, I glanced toward the corner of my bedroom where the voice had come from.  The lights were off, but I could see Joker’s body peeking from the shadows from where he sat.

I shot the dark corner a confused scowl, sure that he could see me.  This entire…evening…had been one mind-fuck after another. 

“Wh...Why are…What?!”

I couldn’t even properly articulate my confusion…but seriously, why the hell was Joker in my apartment?  More to the point, what had been his intention in capturing me, feigning torture against my person, and then fucking me senseless?  I had not imagined the state I would be in when I woke up… _if_ I would even wake up after passing out in Joker’s presence.  Sitting in my bed at my apartment, Joker in the corner, I could not focus enough to conceive Joker’s aim with all this.

The lights were suddenly flipped on, causing me to squint as my eyes adjusted to the brightness.  When I focused back on the man sitting in my chair, my eyes widened. 

His face was completely free of the greasepaint he liked to wear.  I could see the deep, angry red scars on his cheeks, no longer hidden by his red, exaggerated smile.  My eyes traveled to his hair, but then quickly to his clothes.  Joker had apparently…showered…and changed.  His hair was its proper dirty blonde, no longer tinged green with whatever he put in it and it looked relatively clean, if still a little wet.  His clothes were perhaps the most…alarming part of his transformation.  He hadn’t actually changed, but was shy several layers of his usual dress.  He wore the purple trousers, but was down to a white t-shirt, the rest of his dress layers nowhere to be seen. 

I glanced down at myself, my eyes shutting with an exasperated sigh when I realized that not only had Joker dressed down, but apparently I had as well.  I was in a purple tank top and black cotton shorts, and evidently it had been deemed unnecessary to put a bra or panties on me.  I shot Joker a withering look, picking at the cotton tank top with my fingers.  Leave it to Joker to sniff out the one article of purple clothing I owned; one of my dresser-queens that had, up until this moment, been resting peacefully at the bottom of one of my drawers.

He still had not answered me when I sighed, leaning back on my hands, “What are you doing here, Joker?”

Instead of answering me, Joker pushed himself to his feet and walked the three steps to my bed, crawling onto the mattress toward me before gripping my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine.  The weird factor was getting a little hard for me to ignore; being in my apartment—which was something I would later address since I wanted to know who the hell else knew where I lived—Joker sitting in my room casually, removing the Joker “visage” so to speak and continuing our intimacy.  Not to mention it was more than a little unnerving for me to be in Joker’s presence and not feel at least an ounce of fear.  Was I safe from Joker’s machinations?  Shouldn’t I have felt at least some measure of fearfulness at him being in my apartment rather than simple curiosity?

I pulled my lips from his, bracing my hands on his chest long enough to whisper, “Joker…” before he captured my lips again, as if he was trying to devour them.  My hands fisted in his shirt and I renewed my efforts to push him away, unable to ignore my desire to have answers.

“Shhh, pussy ca _t_ ,” he whispered against my lips.

I pulled my head away enough to whisper back, “Why…?” before Joker caught me again with his lips, his tongue diving past mine to explore the corners of my mouth.  He hummed into my mouth, sending shivers over my body as my arousal tingled back to life from the juncture of my thighs.

“Does it matter?” he asked, sounding a little annoyed as his hands moved to the rest of my body, fingers skimming beneath the hem of my tank top to touch my skin.  Apparently my questions were keeping him from screwing me again.  I certainly wasn’t going to object to sex with him again, but I had to know…

“Mmm…a little,” I muffled.  His hands were sliding underneath my top, brushing the underside of my breasts; I arched my back, thrusting them into his hands.  He squeezed the mounds together, his fingers circling my sensitive nipples.  My arms slid up his thick arms, circling his shoulders before my fingers dove into his hair, gripping the damp locks in my hands.  Joker growled appreciatively into my lips, one arm circling behind my back before he dragged my body against the hard planes of his chest; I maneuvered until I was in his lap, legs winding around his back.

When it became clear that Joker had no intention of answering me, I huffed against his lips, tightening my legs around his midsection until Joker squeezed my waist, growling in annoyance against my lips.

“Are you going to tell me why?” I asked, boldly meeting his gaze and arching one brow at him.  The glare Joker leveled at me made my heart stutter, reminding me precisely whose lap I was sitting in.

Joker didn’t answer me for a long moment, and I almost thought he was going to refuse.  His gaze held mine, and I could almost see something working behind his eyes, like he was struggling with something that he wasn’t sure about.  There was that weird again, Joker embodied self-assurance.

“It’s, uh, because you kissed me, pussy…cat.”

My brow rose in surprise, but Joker simply looked at me, waiting, I presumed, for me to absorb what he said so we could continue fucking.

“Is…is that all?” I whispered.  There was the five years to think about…Joker liked to get you when you least expected it, but five years seemed like a big chunk of time to plot getting in bed with the woman that kissed him.  I couldn’t really see it, what the big deal was, why go through all the effort for a single kiss that hadn’t meant anything.

 Joker looked incredibly annoyed, his tongue darting inside his mouth from one cheek to another.  My brow quirked again, hoping there was more of an explanation somewhere.

“No one has done that since…” his mouth quirked, his brow furrowing into a scowl as he glanced all around, avoiding my gaze.  That’s when it happened again and suddenly I knew.  Joker did that repetitive gesture again, swiping his tongue across the inside of his cheeks. His cheeks…mottled and scarred, reaching upwards into a grotesque, macabre smile.  I couldn’t believe it; he expected me to believe that no one has touched him, kissed him, since he got the scars?

“But…Harley, she was always so—”

“Harley was obsessed with the, uh, _idea_ of me.  And her idea of me did not include a mutilated face.  She never wanted to touch me.”

“How long have you had the scars?”  I’d heard, secondhand, one of Joker’s many ‘ya wanna know how I got the scars?’ stories, and I was skeptical of any one of them being true; but for him to go without anyone touching him for so long seemed absurd.  If you could get past the notion that he might kill you at any time, Joker had _a lot_ of sexual appeal.  His scars were unusual, but not hideous, and the rest of him was damn near mouthwatering. 

Joker grumbled, looking away again, and obviously becoming thoroughly annoyed with the Q&A, but at that moment, I wasn’t afraid of him.  I held some measure of value for him, however miniscule it may be, and I knew he wanted me. 

“Ten years.”

Ten years without a single person ever kissing him and…wait.

“Has it been ten years since you’ve had…” he shot me a glowering look and I took that as a ‘none of your fucking business’ warning.

“I still don’t understand though, why me?  I kissed you so you wouldn’t kill me, and it landed you in Arkham.  Is this your way of getting revenge?”

“You think I’m doing this to, uh, hurt you?”

“Your reputation and the fact that you made me believe you were going to fillet my vagina with a band saw would suggest that, yes.”

Joker glared at me, annoyed, probably because I knew that whatever he said was going to cleave him emotionally and he didn’t want to be caught dead doing such a thing, more than he already had.  A long moment of silence passed, pregnant with tension, Joker and I staring at one another.  He wasn’t going to budge, no more than he already had, but I guess I could deal with that.

I rolled my eyes, my arms winding around his neck, “Fine, let me be more direct.  Are you going to kill me, now or in the future?”

“No.”

“Are you going to torture me or cause me any harm, ever?”

“No.”

“How long is this infatuation with me going to last?”

Joker arched his brow, as if tempted to deny any ‘infatuation’ with me, but simply replied, “I have a long attention span.  Why, is there someone, ah, wait _ing_ for you, hmm?”

“No.  Would it matter?”

“Only if you have an issue with me killing your friends.”

“I don’t have any friends.  Is this a jealous streak?”

“…No.”

It briefly crossed my mind once more how unusual this situation was.  Joker and I were in this…thing, for less than 24 hours, and it was already starting to sound like he was planning to stick around for a while.  I was stuck by how much I didn’t mind…in coming to me, effectively seducing me, and partially opening himself to me, Joker had managed to disarm my fear of him.  I still wanted more from him, more than amazing sex and a guarantee to not to kill me.  I could get that anywhere.

“So is Harley out of this picture then?”

“She doesn’t have the will or the means to escape Arkham.  Is _this_ jealousy, pussy cat?”

“I don’t share with others.”

“I already told you she never wanted me that way.”

“Surely you had some degree of affection for her if you kept her around so long.  How else did you put up with her?”

“She found herself in Arkham _a lot_.  And I did not feel anything for her.”

“So you feel something for me, then?”

“Ye—” Joker stopped short, glaring at me.

I couldn’t help the small smile that spread over my lips.  That was what I wanted to hear…that I wasn’t some temporary infatuation to sate Joker’s wounded pride.  I wasn’t a sentimental person, had never had a real relationship with someone, just awkward _things_ that were becoming shorter and shorter as I lost my patience with having someone cling to me, wanting something I wasn’t prepared to give.  My time and my affection felt abused, and I was getting mediocre sex and occasionally a cheesy dinner date out of it all.  No one had ever understood me: my motivations, my _real_ life, my ambitions and my secrets.  I could not stand being in a _thing_ where I had to be guarded.  Eventually my pursuits became strictly physical, no more than an endeavor to satisfy my body.  Joker, the last person in the world I could have fathomed offering me his body, let alone his heart, wanted _me_.  Wanted to pleasure me, wanted to _be_ with me, without some sociopathic agenda that would result in my death or imprisonment.

I pressed my lips closer to his, feeling oddly warm and affectionate, “It’s okay, you can say it,” I whispered against his lips, nipping at the scar that split his bottom lip.

Joker stared hard at me, his glare beginning to fade.  Instead of answering me, which I figured he wouldn’t, Joker pressed his lips firmly to mine, and gently lowered me onto the comforter, our hips pressed together.

It wasn’t until we were both naked—me strung out by Joker’s tongue having lavished my breasts and body, my arms flung around his shoulders, our lips together with his tongue doing things to my mouth that I had never imagined, and his cock slowly thrusting into me—that I came to the startling realization that we were making love.  I had never made love before; I always preferred the rough sex, which was faster, over the longer, drawn out act of making love.

We were doing this completely wrong, I thought.  It was wrong for _this_ to even _be_ ; Joker was a manic sociopath, and I was prison-dodging jewel thief and occasional vigilante.  We had been in each other’s presence for less than 24 hours…and suddenly my heart was fluttering in an unfamiliar way in my chest that had me clenching my arms around his shoulders, a tear leaking out of my eyes as I squeezed them shut, Joker gently kissing the tear on my cheek.  What we were, what this was…it completely derailed the social paradigm of…of…dating?  Sex?  _Relationships?!_

Joker, still armed with his usual intuitiveness regarding other people’s thoughts and emotions, pressed his lips to my ear and whispered, “Let it be.”

Let it be…it seemed so simple.  Why not let it be?  Joker and I were not normal people; in fact, we departed from social norms so radically that people wanted to put us in an asylum for it.  Why was I bothering to fixate on this rapid development when I could just…be.  I could get over it being Joker—I wanted to—that I was with…that we transported from nil to point B without my ever being aware of it.  I could deal with this.  Because somewhere this was what I had been missing all along.  I just never would have looked in Joker’s direction before since…well, it would have previously gotten me killed to do so.

I dared to trail kisses from Joker’s lips to one of his scars, peppering the mottled skin with my attention.  Joker briefly stiffened above me, his hips stuttering in their slow rhythm.  My gut clenched nervously as I wondered if this was crossing a line with Joker.  Joker’s hand suddenly reached for mine, drawing it away from his body.  I watched as he laced our fingers together.

So sentimental. So cheesy. So sweet. So _weird_.

Joker’s pace quickened; my back arched off the bed as his thrusts brought me to a place that only he had introduced me to: pure, unadulterated bliss.  I screamed to my room, my still-sensitive sex absolutely throbbing as Joker continued to thrust inside me.

His thrusts became rougher and faster as he sought his own release.  I watched his face, wondering if he would be as guarded as he was the first time we had done this.  His lips were pursed, parting with his panting breaths and groans.  It was so fascinating to watch him like this, to see the infamous Joker bared before me, arrested by my body.

Suddenly Joker’s eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenching as he thrust inside of me two more times before stilling, his cock twitching inside of me as he spilled his seed.

Without pulling out of me, Joker rolled to the side, bringing me with him, and drew the blankets over our bodies.

This was definitely crazy, and it was probably a monumentally bad idea, but it was hard to ignore how much I _liked_ being in Joker’s arms.

If anybody asked, I could just tell them Joker captured me and was keeping me as his prisoner.

It wasn’t a complete lie.


End file.
